Teddy Bears and Tea Dates
by ExplosiveRanga95
Summary: Mycroft Holmes agreed to give sperm to his best friend to have a child. When she dies, who is to look after the child? And how will he explain it to potential boyfriends?
1. Speeding Tickets

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Chapter 1

Mycroft never thought he would have children. As a young gay man, he accepted that if he ever found himself a lover, they would find a nice place in the city with maybe a cat or two and they would be quietly happy.

Mummy would nag him for grand children; they weren't sure if Sherlock would ever sort himself out and Abigail... well she was out of the question.

Mycroft knew he was gay very early on. As soon as it became apparent to him that love and lust weren't restricted to men and women alone, he realised that heterosexuality wasn't for him. It was in middle school that he noticed boys bodies more and university was when he came out of his shell and into the full bloom of his sexuality.

That was where he met Eliza and through her, his first boyfriend Oscar. The relationship with Oscar ended after a few months and Eliza was there to console Mycroft with a tub of ice cream and a bottle of wine when he needed it the most. Consequently he did the same for her when she came out as a lesbian.

They had been friends for almost 20 years when Eliza decided that she wanted a baby. She was complaining about how hard it was for a gay, single woman to have a child when Mycroft offered his own sperm, reasoning that he wasn't going to use it so why shouldn't she?

Just over a year later, their little girl was born. Olive Elizabeth Hempstead was the most precious little human that Mycroft had ever seen. She had Eliza's own brown eyes but had been graced with Mycroft's ginger locks and rosy cheeks. As she got older, freckles developed across her nose and she looked more like her father every day.

He saw her often enough. Work had just picked up after she was born so on weekends he would drive down to their home in Oxford and visit the doting mother and daughter.

They were all happy with regular visits. He never wanted to raise her as his own child. She was perfectly happy to have him as the doting uncle (who spoiled her rotten, no doubt) and let them both get on with their lives.

Life never works out how you want it.

It wasn't long after Olive's second birthday that Eliza had the accident. Mycroft had the baby for the night while her mother attended a work party.

She had a little too much to drink. A dog ran in front of the car and Eliza swerved to avoid it, ploughing into a ditch and head on into a Telephone pole instead.

She died instantly.

Eliza's family hadn't been in the picture since she came out.

Mycroft, as her biological father, was the only one she had left.

There were nights when they would cry together, one of Eliza's big blankets wrapped around them, curled in a bed too big for the two of them.

Olive wanted her mother.

Mycroft wanted his best friend.

It took a few weeks until it was all official. Eliza's things were moved into storage or into his house.

It took another few weeks before Mycroft went back to work. His mother would babysit her most days (she had spoiled her granddaughter from day one) and slowly, life got easier. Mycroft and Olive fell into a routine, Sherlock seemed to be on track and mummy and daddy loved having Olive over when work became too much.

They still missed Eliza but life went on.

It was a Tuesday morning when Mycroft met Greg Lestrade. He remembered because he had dropped Olive off at daycare. It wasn't until his daughter started crying for her Lamby that he had forgotten Olive's bag.

Now he was late and speeding back to the daycare with the backpack on the seat beside him and that's when a police car pulled him over. It was an unmarked car and the man that got out wasn't in uniform but a lilac shirt and a suit that was half a size too big. Mycroft let his head drop against the steering wheel for a moment before he sat up and regained his facade. He should have just had his assistant get Olive's bag. He should have just gone to work and let her deal with it.

Then again, this was his daughter.

Mycroft put his window down and put on his best apologetic smile as the officer approached.

"I'm sorry officer..."

The silver haired man took his glasses off and hung them from his shirt, revealing the warmest honey brown eyes Mycroft had ever seen.

"I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade. Do you realise how fast you were going sir?"

"Yes I know, my apologies."

"Licence and registration please."

Mycroft complied as he handed the papers over, casting a glance down to his watch

The detective looked the papers over and let his gaze move to the backpack and into the back of the car.

"I'm sorry officer, I don't have time for this. I'm late for work. Why don't you check my registration and either fine me or let me go?"

Detective Lestrade's eyes narrowed and his fingers tightened around the papers as he strode back to his car.

It took a few minutes and Mycroft watched the policeman in his rear view mirror. He saw the man's eyes furrow into a frown; he seemed to be arguing with the person on the other end of the radio. Another few minutes and he strode back to Mycroft's car, knuckles white.

"I've been told to let you go with a warning... you've got some friends in high places, Mr Holmes."

Mycroft nodded firmly, tucking his licence back into his wallet. He thanked the man and felt the detective's eyes on him as he started the car and pulled onto the road.

It wasn't something he thought much about after that. He dropped his daughter's bag off, went to work and life went on. He'd remember those brown eyes every so often, as he drank his single malt but that's all it was, a thought. He thought nothing of it until he had a dream about him.

It was a hot dream; a lewd, cheap and sexy dream that involved handcuffs and a certain detective bending him over to flog him with an open hand. He woke up panting and hard and it took a 20 minute cold shower to feel slightly human again.

Another half an hour and he was scooping his babbling daughter out of her cot, dressed in bed pants and a green sweater for a day off, something that didn't come around often.

She stared at him across the table from her high chair, little legs kicking happily as she shovelled handfuls of mashed banana into her mouth. Mycroft Holmes, Ice man, felt his heart melt as she blew bubbles at him, grinning like her mother used to when she had a great idea.

His phone buzzed as he took a bite from his toast. With one hand wiping the mess from the little hands, he flicked through the notifications. Most were from work, things that needed doing later in the day. The last one was a missed call from an unknown number.

Deciding not to call it back, (it was his policy that if it were important, they would leave a message), he set it down and sat back to take another bite of marmalade toast when it rang again.

He answered this time.

"Mr Holmes, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade. I have your brother in my lockup. When can you get down here?"

Mycroft wanted to bury his head under the table and ignore the man. Instead, ignoring the flutter in his belly at the voice that had haunted his dreams last night and could it really be a coincidence that this man was the one calling him?, Mycroft dressed his daughter and himself, dropping her off at his mothers house before he headed for Scotland Yard.

Sherlock had been going so well.

With his heart full of dread over his brother and longing for a day off with no interruptions, Mycroft sped down the highway to his brother's aid.


	2. Cocaine addicts

Chapter 2

Greg Lestrade wasn't a man to believe in fate. Things happened, sometimes for no reason at all and there wasn't much he or anyone else could do about them.

It wasn't fate or grand design that made his wife have an affair. It was her being a bitch and him being too cowardly and naive to leave.

It certainly wasn't fate that his father died in a freak accident when Greg was just a kid, leaving his mother to raise four boys alone.

It must have been coincidence then that led the Holmes brothers into his life.

As he scanned the file in front of him of one Sherlock Holmes, a junkie who was found in a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, his eyes fell to the man's emergency contact.

It had been by coincidence that he was driving back from his soon-to-be-Ex-Wife's house and he saw a black sedan speed past him as he pulled out of the driveway onto the road.

He was ready to give the man a ticket and then dispatch got back to him and he was told, not so subtly, to drop the charges and let him go.

He wasn't happy about it but he did as he was told and spent the next two nights scouring the files for the man's name. All he acquired was a caffeine hangover, a sore ass and more questions than answers.

It must have been another coincidence then that when a junkie had been brought in two weeks later, for trespassing and attacking the policeman who found him, Greg recognised the unusual name and took over the case.

After he called the elder Holmes brother, he couldn't help but feel trepidation at another meeting. Deciding to walk off his nerves, he moved across the office to get a coffee and talk to Sherlock before his brother got there.

The man was almost the exact opposite of the man Greg met a few weeks before. He was tall and had dark, messy curls on his head, the bags under his eyes highlighted by his white pallor.

"Mr Holmes?"

The man didn't open his eyes and for a moment, Greg wondered if he overdosed until he noticed his stomach moving with his breathing. He moved a little closer to the man laying down and shook his head.

He hated seeing people get like this. His younger brother had gone down this same path and ended up overdosed in a gutter on Christmas Eve. It broke his mother's heart and Greg and his brothers were never quite the same; even Oscar, his eldest brother, who was a mummy's boy, even taking her last name after their father died, barely made Christmas dinner anymore.

"Mr Holmes, my name is—"

"Detective Inspector Gordon Lestrade," the voice drawled, lips barely moving. Lazily, the eyes opened and he blinked at the man standing over him.

"It's Greg…"

But Sherlock was already closing his eyes again as he rolled over onto his side to face the wall

"Do you understand why you're here?"

"Because I'm a genius and you need my help on cases. Scotland Yard are notoriously bad detectives and you could use my expertise."

All Greg could do was blink in disbelief. This kid had the nerve to tell him that he was bad at his job? He narrowed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest, trying to think of something witty to say back but he came up with nothing.

"No, you're here because we found you after you broke into a back yard and harassed a young family. We also believe you to be on several illegal substances. Genius or not, that's against the law."

"No doubt you've called my brother?" Greg scowled and nodded. "Good then you know I shouldn't talk without my counsel present."

That was that. As soon as legal help was mentioned, the conversation was over. He rolled his eyes and strode out of the cell, listening to the man laughing as the door locked behind him.

It was another half an hour before the aforementioned brother arrived and by then Greg was on his second coffee and his third doughnut. He brushed the powdered sugar from his hands as an officer brought Mycroft in.

The man looked annoyingly smug in his pristine charcoal suit with his expensive watch but there was no doubt of the worry in his eyes.

"Detective Inspector, how nice to see you again. May I speak to my brother?"

His voice was just as Greg remembered it, like silk. He sounded like he owned the world. Greg wanted to punch him in the face.

"First things first, Mr Holmes. Your brother was found—"

"Yes, I am quite aware of my brother's situation. I do hope he hasn't said anything too incriminating. Now, he would have had a piece of paper on him with some strange writing. May I see it?"

Greg knew that today would be a long day. All he wanted right now was a massive pint and someone to punch because these men, he suspected, would be the death of him.

"No, that's evidence. I'm afraid I can't just give evidence out, now can I?"

Mycroft's brow cocked and he clutched his umbrella with two hands. "Well of course. But I do need that list you see. It is a record of everything my brother has taken, something I know he won't have told you."

"Who are you?"

Greg hadn't meant to say that out loud but this man was infuriating, acting liked he owned the world. And how was there no record of him?

Mycroft's lips pursed nonchalantly and he tapped his fingers against the wooden handle.

"I'm occupy a minor position in the British Government. Now," he continued before Greg could argue, "may I see my brother?"

Greg could only oblige, a scowl creasing his face as he lead the taller man to Sherlock's cell.

It was only an hour before the Holmes brothers were leaving, much to Greg's chagrin. Sherlock hadn't stopped rattling off things as he was being released, despite his brother obviously trying to shut him up.

How the hell had he known about his wife cheating on him?

How the hell had been right when he said that Greg hadn't been laid in a month?

How the hell hadn't he punched the little punk out?

Whatever the case, Sherlock had been right when he said he was a genius.

What did that make Mycroft?

He watched Sherlock get into a cab, ignoring his brother who was obviously berating him. It only took one word, that Greg couldn't hear from his position by the smoker's area, and Mycroft was stepping back with a scowl.

The cab sped off and Mycroft got into his own black car as it sidled up to the curb. Before he knew it, Greg was stubbing out his cigarette and jumping in his car to follow him.


End file.
